


It's Not Always About Holding Hands

by headrush100



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dubious Consent, Handcuffs, Kink, M/M, Smut, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headrush100/pseuds/headrush100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles helps Wesley to let go, while working out a few issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Always About Holding Hands

A sharp rapping on the door made Wesley jump and spill his drink. These days, he rarely received visits from people he wanted to see. He got up, unbolted the door, and blinked, uncomprehending.

“Giles? I thought you were in England.” Giles pushed past him, and into the living room. When Wesley had finished bolting the door, he turned back to his visitor.

Giles looked him up and down, unsmiling. “I’m not.” He dropped a paper bag onto the couch, where it landed with a metallic clank. His eyes drifted around the squalid little flat, paused on the bottle on the coffee table, and cut back to Wesley. “You sober?”

“Yes,” he replied, bristling. What business was it of his?

“You sure?”

“That’s my first drink of the evening, insofar as it’s any of your – “

“Go into the bedroom.”

Wesley blinked again, thoroughly confused. “What?” 

Giles crossed his arms. “I want to see you walk a dead straight line into the bedroom. When you get there, remove your shoes and socks, and lie down on the bed.”

“Giles…”

“I’m not giving you time to think about it.”

Wesley froze. A dim memory of a very drunken conversation was surfacing. Surely he wasn’t going to…

“Go on, Wesley.”

And to his utter amazement, he did. He walked into his room, slowly, kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and lay down on the bed. It had to be a dream.

After a minute, Giles entered the bedroom. He’d taken off his coat, and was rolling up his sleeves. “You haven’t responded to letters, calls, or emails, so I’m bloody well going to see for myself how you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Affronted, Wesley pushed himself up on his elbows. “What did you hear?” 

Giles perched on the bed. “Doesn’t matter. They’re only concerned about you, as I am. Lie back. Arms at your sides.”

Not without trepidation, he obeyed, and Giles began a slow, sensual physical examination. He started at the top of Wesley’s head, running fingers through his hair, pressing here and there. He worked his way down unhurriedly, noting every scar, bruise, and sensitive spot. His finger lightly traced the long red seam on Wesley’s neck, causing him to flinch; whether from pleasure or recollection, he wasn’t certain, and the sure, competent touches were charged with something powerfully erotic.

Giles slowly unbuttoned Wesley’s shirt. When he was finished, he parted the fabric and laid a warm, firm hand over Wesley’s hammering heart. “Wesley. Do you want this?”

Wesley couldn’t speak, couldn’t commit himself to an answer; there were too many things to consider, and no time.

“All right then. I’m going to go ahead. If you want me to stop any time, just say.” He leaned down and kissed Wesley on the forehead, then resumed the examination. 

Wesley lay in a pleasurable state of shock as Giles stroked and pressed down his shoulders, his arms, his hands, his chest and stomach. He was getting used to the touch of another person again, learning that the hands weren’t going to hurt. Being the object of such infinite care was so unusual, so longed-for, that it was at once a tremendous relief and a turn on to be known so thoroughly, to have someone else make the effort of unburdening him of his secrets.

Giles quickly unfastened Wesley’s belt and trousers. “Lift your hips.” His voice was again that stern, sonorous rumble.

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, he did, breathing harder and faster now. Giles worked the clothes halfway down his thighs. Wesley was half-hard already, pleased and ashamed in equal measure, squirming under Giles’s open stare.

“Turn over.”

Smothering the unbidden, horrified knowledge of what his father would say, Wesley did. Giles continued his survey of new and old wounds, but massaged him a little, too, giving him space to relax and adjust. The only comment he made was a muttered “Christ” over Faith’s handiwork.

Wesley felt Giles shift on the bed, heard him opening the paper bag and uncapping something. Very soon that warm hand was on his lower back, soothing him. Soon after that, one finger eased between his buttocks. 

“Shall I go on?” Giles’s voice was a little softer, deeper, now.

He couldn’t bring himself to articulate the desperate need he felt. After a long, awful moment, Giles roughly took hold of his trousers and boxers, and yanked them the rest of the way off. Wesley got harder.

“Spread your legs,” he snapped. “I won’t ask you again.”

Wesley shuddered, and obeyed. Giles’s hand was on his buttocks again, exposing him so completely that Wesley turned his face into the pillow and closed his eyes as a cool, wet finger gently probed. 

“Do you want to stop?” said Giles. “Tell me what you want.”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what…” Yes, he did. “Safety,” he said at last. “Like… like I said in the bar. I want you to do whatever you think…” It didn’t even make sense, but Giles seemed to understand. 

“I’m taking over, Wesley. Let me make you safe.” The finger pushed in smoothly. 

Wesley stifled another groan, and unthinkingly reached for his cock.

Giles’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. “No. I’ll decide when you come.” 

The paper bag rustled, and Wesley heard the clank of metal on metal. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and made a noise of despair. He could never do this; they had to stop. But he didn’t want to.

“Hands behind your head, please.”

Wesley performed the contortion required, and moments later he was cuffed. The bands were tightened just enough to ensure he wouldn’t forget he was restrained. If he came, it would be Giles’s doing, and not his own. This was a need he hadn’t dared voice, and the reality infinitely better than anything he could have imagined. A new sense of calm and relief flooded him. Giles was far more trustworthy than himself. Imagine doing this with Lilah. It wouldn’t have ended well. The finger went into him again, and soon was joined by another.

He pushed back into Giles’s hand and the fingers were immediately withdrawn. Wesley groaned before he could stop himself, was embarrassed, then cursed his repression; Giles wanted to be doing these things, and he was showing no sign of embarrassment or disgust. He was doing exactly as Wesley wanted, so why should he not enjoy it? 

“Deep breath,” said Giles, exposing him again. 

As Wesley obeyed, a silicone toy pressed against him, thick and unyielding. He gasped as his body opened to accommodate it. It didn’t hurt, but it was new, and slightly frightening as it slid deeper into him. Giles pulled it out a little, pushed it back in again, and he gasped with the shock of pleasure it created. Giles pressed firmly on the base of his spine when he began to thrust helplessly into the covers, holding him down until it was fully inserted.

“That’s it. Good lad,” Giles said gently. “Turn over again.”

Wesley did, though not without pause. He’d be face to face with Giles now. He lay on his back, naked from the waist down, hands secured behind his head, still not convinced this was truly happening, though it certainly felt real enough. His legs fell open naturally to accommodate the object. Without warning, Giles reached over, gave his cock a couple of hard strokes, and pressed a spot behind his balls. Everything went white for a moment. When he recovered his senses, Giles looked as smug as he had in the high school library as he gripped the base of Wesley’s cock. 

“The perineum’s an acupressure point.”

Wesley caught his breath. “Trust you to know that.” He was rapidly shedding his inhibitions, and very aware that Giles was still fully clothed and completely in control. “I want to see you,” he said groggily.

Giles unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a fading burn in the centre of his chest.

“Did Willow do that?”

Giles acknowledged the question with a short nod, but no more. He didn’t remove his shirt, but unbuckled his belt, and unfastened his jeans. He pushed them down a fraction but left the boxers more or less in place, hard as he very obviously was. He moved over Wesley, and bent his head to kiss him on the mouth. 

This was more intimate, more powerful than anything he’d yet done, and something in Wesley rebelled hard at it. Wesley flinched, and Giles pulled back immediately. Physical pleasure was one thing, but intimacy was something else. Apparently. What was Giles to think? He’d ruined it. “I’m sorry, I…” 

Giles shook his head. “It’s all right. I understand.” He reached between Wesley’s legs and manipulated the toy, making him groan, then tapped his bent knee. “Spread your legs a bit more.”

Giles gripped the base of Wesley’s penis and tugged on the toy. It slid out easily, leaving him empty and trembling, desperate for release. In the dim light he watched Giles remove his clothes. He was still in fine shape, and at least as scarred as Wesley was himself. Of course. Angelus.

Wesley watched, shuddering, as Giles slowly rolled on a condom and added more lubricant. Giles leaned in to kiss him again; deeper, harder, and far more demanding than before. Wesley returned it as best he could, and into his mind came Rupert Brooke’s line about the rough male kiss, which was exactly what this was.

Giles moved down between Wesley’s legs, pushing his knees apart, getting into position. When the latex tip touched him, Wesley knew this was really going to happen. Before he quite had time to register it, light pressure became unbearable. A single smooth, cool push, and the head of Giles’s penis slipped inside him. He gasped for breath, hoping for pleasure, prepared for pain. It was much larger than the toy, and somehow far less easy to hide from. 

“Push out,” Giles said tightly. His hands moved deftly, firmly, manipulating cock, balls, and perineum, distracting him, making his body more receptive to the intrusion. It was ecstasy, and everything went away as he was penetrated in one long, slow, inexorable, thrust. Giles studied his face for a moment, then gave a gentle thrust, making them both groan. 

An inarticulate sob escaped Wesley, and he immediately reproved himself for this show of weakness. Giles braced him with one hand on his leg, the other rapidly and expertly working his cock. “S’all right, Wes. Good boy. Let it out.” He thrust more strongly, altering pace and angle, telling Wesley to squeeze, to relax, until he was panting shallowly, beyond orders, beyond responsibility, straining into Giles’s deep, rapid strokes until all the barriers gave way, and he came with a loud cry. Giles came moments later with a shout of his own.

He kept his eyes closed afterwards, heaving for breath, listening to Giles’s similar reaction. The pressure eased a little. Giles’s cock slipped out of him, and he was alone again. Giles got off the bed and went into the bathroom. He returned with a warm, wet flannel and cleaned Wesley up thoroughly enough to cause slight self-consciousness as well as pleasurable light stimulation. He kept his eyes closed, making himself invisible as he’d done when he was a child.

“Wesley?” Giles urged Wesley’s arms into a more accessible position, and removed the handcuffs. He felt a pang of nerves at being free and responsible again.

A warm hand pressed firmly on his chest, calming him, feeling his heartbeat, still not allowing him to hide. 

“Are you all right? Was it all right?”

Wesley laughed, relaxing further. “All right? Giles, if you’d been any more – ”

“I meant – ”

“I know what you meant, and yes, it was perfect. I just couldn’t bring myself to…”  
“I know.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Giles grinned.

He laughed again. “I’ll bet it was. You always did like to order me around.” 

“Yes.”

“This was my first…”

“I know.” 

Giles threw a light blanket over him. He hadn’t even realised he’d been cold. 

“I was going to say, my first therapy shag.”

Giles laughed. “Surely not.” 

Wesley’s gut contracted. “Does this make me… I mean, I’ve never… I don’t know if…”

“I don’t know about that. I’d say it makes you…” Giles considered. “More open-minded than perhaps you realised. Put it this way; you and I live very uncertain, and frequently horrific lives. In a vulnerable moment, you confided in me something which, really, was a need for a sort of sanctuary; a place apart to feel cared for, and find release. That’s what I was trying to give you.” 

Wesley finally dared open his eyes. He saw no judgement in the man’s expression, and he had dropped the mask of sternness. “Well, you certainly accomplished that. It’s just all so… complicated now.”

“Not really. What I did was simply an act of friendship.” Giles grinned wryly. “A slightly unconventional one, I grant you, but then, we live unconventional lives.”

“So we’re not…”

“We’re friends.”

“Friends who’ve…”

“Yes. It happens.”

“It hasn’t happened to me before.”

“It has to me. There are times when it’s helped immensely just to know that there’s someone there who knows you. Who’s there if you need them.”

Wesley nodded. The feeling of isolation and despair that had settled over him in the weeks and months before Giles arrived had lifted under his care, however briefly. He understood that he could return to that care when he needed to, and could give it in return if Giles would accept it. “It’s not always about holding hands.”

Giles nodded, leaned down, and kissed him. This time, Wesley kissed him back, and held on. 

 

End.


End file.
